The King's Courtesan Read online

  She was too tired to argue. Feeling safe and protected she drifted toward sleep.

  “My but you’re a naughty wench, Hope Nichols,” he whispered a moment later. His voice sounded positively sinful and highly amused.

  “Mmm?” Try as she might, fatigue had claimed her and she could rouse herself no further.

  “I’ve only just noticed the mirror above your bed. Where else have you hidden them? Must I look in the salon, the library…above the bil iard table?”

  With a wicked smile, she fel asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ROBERT N ICHOLS WOULD ONCE HAVE sworn he had no strong emotions left. But Hope stirred something in him. Of that there was no doubt. Whatever her past, there was something sweet and genuine about her. Her passion for life lit a spark in everything surrounding her, including him. Caroline would have liked her. He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t anymore. He liked her far too much, and he was so very tired of being alone. Last night he had talked with her of Caroline, for God’s sake, if only a little. It was something he had never done with anyone before. Yet she mustn’t know the truth about him, what he had and had not done. She would surely leave in horror if she did. How many have you killed?

  When he was a fighting man he used to dream of going home. He thought Cressly was what he wanted. But it was nothing but an empty pile of brick and stone, fil ed with painful memories. Hope made it a home. Last night he had told her so. Last night she had asked him to stand with her should she be cal ed away. Now he had something worth keeping, something that mattered, and something to lose.

  Even as he searched the grounds looking for her it pleased and terrified him. A soldier knew how thin the line between life and death. It was a knife edge, a moment, a breath.

  Only a fool would deny himself warmth and comfort when it came his way like a gift. Her past didn’t matter, as long as she didn’t insist on knowing too much of his. And though he knew it could only lead to heartache, he couldn’t help but seek her out.

  He found her on the riverbank just before sunset, as the countryside burned green and gold. A fishing rod lay abandoned on the ground beside her, next to a smal basket of fishing corks and clever feather flies. Unaware of his presence, she slowly twirled a daisy in her hand, careful y plucking petals one by one and muttering to herself in French, “Il m’aime un peu, il m’aime beaucoup, il m’aime pas du tout.”

  She’d tied her hair back off her face with a ribbon that threatened to become undone. A lustrous curl had escaped its bonds to brush her cheek and throat. If he hadn’t known anything of her background he might have thought her a disheveled angel. Perhaps she was.

  Riveted he approached her, hunger sparking in his eyes.

  “Il m’aime—”

  “Good evening, Hope.”

  “Merde!” In her surprise she kicked the pole and had to scramble down the bank to stop it from sliding into the river.

  He reached for the back of her dress just as she lunged for the rod, and hauled her back upright with her prize clutched in her hand. “Good lord, Captain. You nearly stopped my heart!”

  “I also just saved you from a soaking. Who were you dreaming of as you tore apart that poor defenseless flower?”

  She was certain he could see her blush, for she could feel it burning her face. “It’s just a sil y children’s game.” But there was nothing childish about the thril of pleasure she felt when he offered her his arm. There was nothing childish about the thril that ran through her whenever he smiled, or the way her skin pricked and her heart hammered whenever she felt his touch.

  “Wil you walk with me? Your rod and basket wil be safe stowed under the tree.”

  She answered by sliding her arm through his, and they ambled along the bank together. It was nearing midsummer and the nights were warm. Dusk descended in layers of lavender, streaked with bril iant dabs of orange. A low-lying mist blanketed the river and val ey, and the treetops floated above it, resembling islands in a lake.

  It was clear overhead, and as they turned back after walking a mile or two, the first stars made their appearance, blinking on one after the other, as if lit by some unseen hand.

  “It’s so beautiful here, Robert.”

  “Do you ever miss London?”

  “No. At first I was too angry. Then I was too busy. And then…”

  “And then?”

  “I found I was enjoying myself. With Rose and Daisy and Oakes. Sometimes even you.” She gave him a quick sideways glance.

  He pul ed her to a stop under the yew. “And now?” His voice was rough, warm, and it sent chil s up her spine.

  “Now I find myself longing for something. But I’m not sure what it is.” The sky was glowing now, a vast pulsing mystery. Behind them was the dul rumble of the river, between them, their own heat and the steady rhythm of heart and lung.

  “I am sorry, Robert, that you were forced into this. You have been quite kind under the circumstances. When I first saw you, you reminded me of some knight of old. You stil do. I can only guess what you thought of me.”

  He took a step closer, leaning in to her. When he spoke his voice was low and seductive; his lips almost brushed her cheek. “Can you? I remember it clearly. I always wil . Those mischievous eyes, that tumbling hair tangled through with vines and flowers.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, his touch feather-light as he caught the errant lock of hair between his fingers.

  “I thought you were some magical creature ful of grace and light and tremendous power.” He felt her tremble as he drew her wayward tendril along her col arbone and up the underside of her jaw. “For a moment I was paralyzed and forgot how to breathe. A sharp pain pierced my heart and I grew dizzy. Everything receded. Nothing existed but you.” He drew the unruly curl to his lips and kissed it, before tucking it gently behind her ear. “Elf-shot I was. I knew right away what you were.”

  Her smile was bril iant, her eyes outshone the stars. “You said that was because of my mirrors.”

  His ful -throated laughter was carried downstream on the river.

  “What are you doing here, Robert?”

  “Chasing you. Fol owing you. Wooing you, I think.”

  “You think? Oh, look! Look al around us. It’s beautiful!” Her voice was hushed and fil ed with awe.

  Her lips were beautiful. Her eyes were beautiful. But he tore his gaze away. Though the moon was but a sliver, the woods were alive with flickering patterns of glowing light.

  Some danced through the air emitting multiple flashes, some answered with a stately response from the bushes, and others seemed to line the path, glowing on the ground.

  “Your relatives and fairy friends?”

  She grinned and ducked her head.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve sat out on a summer’s night just to enjoy it. Wil you join me?” he asked. He sat on the ground, his back against a tree, and reached for her hand to help her down. She lost her balance and giggled as she landed in his lap.

  “Ooof! You are remarkably solid for a being of grace and light.” Despite his teasing, he was quick to grab hold of her when she tried to get off him, encircling her waist with one strong arm while wrapping the other around her shoulders and pul ing her down into his warmth. She settled back against his chest. This beautiful night there was no other place in the world she would rather be.

  “It almost seems as if they are talking to each other,” she said, breathless.

  “They are. I used to sit out al night to watch them as a boy.

  This is the time of year they go looking for a mate.”

  “It’s fantastical. Magical. A creature that makes its own light!”

  “Yes, elf. Much like you do. A rare and wondrous creature indeed.” He nuzzled her throat, trailing sweet hot kisses along the curve of her neck and jaw. She moaned when he nibbled the sensitive skin behind her ear, and her mouth parted when he caught her bottom lip, caressing it with his thumb. He lowered his mouth, stopping a breath away from hers. She snuggled tigh
t against him, reaching her arms around his neck as he pul ed her closer stil . Sweet sensations curled around her. She felt as if something deep inside her was melting. Not just in her body, but in her soul.

  It made her feel tender and wild and vulnerable.

  His knuckles grazed her cheekbone and he cupped her jaw. His mouth brushed hers in a feather-light kiss and he growled low in his throat as he tasted her lips. She smel ed like sunshine and summer, and her lips were sweet as strawberries. He hugged her, enjoying the feel of her in his arms as she squirmed against him. Christ! His cock was stiff and swol en, wedged between her buttocks with nothing but a few thin layers of linen and silk between them.

  Every time she shifted, every time she squirmed or wriggled, every move she made was an exquisite agony that set his teeth on edge.

  He tugged at her ribbon, freeing her hair so it tumbled about her shoulders in a wild cascade. Spreading his fingers through it he claimed her in a devouring kiss. She could feel him, hard and insistent beneath her, pressing against her bottom, teasing the warm juncture between her thighs. Alive with sensation she arched against him, unable to stop a moan of excitement as his tongue found hers, exploring her mouth in an unhurried teasing dance. She sighed against him as an exquisite fire began to burn.

  Insistent hands roamed the contours of her dress, stroking and squeezing, exploring every curve. A gasp escaped her when his fingers brushed the pebbled peaks that thrust against the thin material of her bodice. She turned into his arms with an incoherent cry, reaching under his shirt and tugging it open to slide her hand along his heated skin, reveling in the play of skin and muscle beneath her open palm. Never had a man stirred her like this, with nothing more than a touch and a kiss. Never had a man taken such care.

  Groaning, he eased her from his aching lap before she made him spend like an untried youth. She whimpered as he laid her down in the bed of moss and violets carpeting the earth beneath the tree. Silencing her murmured protest with a lush kiss, he covered her body with his own. “I have long wanted to kiss you just like this, in a bed of flowers under the stars,” he said in a husky whisper. “I’ve wanted it ever since I saw you dancing barefoot in the park. Even when we argued, when we were angry and not speaking, I couldn’t get that picture from my mind.” As he spoke, his finger traced a path along her décol etage. Her breath caught in her throat. She closed he eyes and shivered as her breasts swel ed and hardened.

  She thrust them upward, begging his attention. Her nipples strained against soft linen, but it failed to give her the release she sought. She swal owed, watching mesmerized as he drew the tip of his finger down the front of her bodice, gently tugging clasps and ribbons.

  “Please, Robert, don’t tease me.”

  “But you’re like a pretty package, just waiting to be opened.

  Waiting and teasing are half the fun.” He meant what he said. One took a whore to satisfy an urge, but surely a man should take his time to savor his lover or wife. When he took her he wanted her as wild for him as he was for her.

  Stil , a gentleman didn’t leave his woman wanting. With a wicked smile he unhooked the clasps of her gown.

  Hope felt his gaze like a sensuous caress. Her body felt tender, excited, aching, and her heart beat madly as his finger gently circled her rigid tips. Bolts of pleasure pulsed through her body when he plumped a breast and drew a nipple into his mouth. His teeth bit gently as he teased and nibbled, and stroked her through her soaking chemise with his hot, wet tongue. She moaned and clutched his hair, riding wild sensations that traveled through nerve and skin and sinew to throb at her core.

  Entwining one hand in a mass of lustrous curls, he returned his lips to hers, plundering her mouth with lips and tongue as his free hand continued to pinch and fondle until she cried out her pleasure, and then he kissed her some more.

  They kissed and cuddled through the night, slow and tender, fierce and demanding, playful and teasing, and he brought her to pleasure two times more.

  He fel asleep just before dawn, his head resting on her breast, next to her heart. She stroked his hair and bent to kiss the thin white scar that creased his cheek, barely visible beneath his morning’s growth of beard. One lone star remained in the sky. It didn’t sparkle. It glowed. Wisps of mist drifted through the trees, lingering like the last river spirits of the night. She glowed, too, stil enraptured by sweet sensation, though al they’d done was little more than kiss. Last night was a first. A dangerous and delightful new experience. She had been auctioned off, summoned, bargained with and paid for…but she had never been wooed before.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HOPE FEARED THAT FOR THE first time in her life she might be truly in love. She’d seen it before. It was much like a sickness. It left its victims trembling and broken. Where once they were happy, now they were but shades of themselves; pining, unhappy and insecure. She could count the happy couples she knew on one hand. She had yet to meet a man who could be trusted completely, and Charles had been bad enough. She couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be, to truly love a man, and then be betrayed.

  But the captain had the trust of his men and servants, people who’d known him for much of his life. Attractive as he was, he was no womanizer, and he had shown honor regarding her funds. His word meant something, even when given to a woman. He paid attention, took notice, made her feel valued. He wooed her where there was no need. Could he be different? She fervently hoped so, because it was too late to go back now. He’d pierced her guard and found her heart and she was thoroughly enjoying being courted.

  He took her along with him to visit the vil age and see the extent of their lands. He even cal ed them that, as if they were hers, too. He came fishing with her, and today he indulged her when she asked him to teach her how to use a sword. It was a very warm day. He’d removed his shirt and she’d feasted her eyes on his naked torso.

  “You must keep your body balanced so you can strike or parry without being hit. Always have your feet shoulder-width and when you move, move so your legs are spread apart. Proper footing is the key.” He circled her, regarding her critical y. She was wielding a light rapier and dressed in boys’ clothes. He came to stand behind her, making adjustments to her arms and shoulders and setting her feet by sliding his hand down her legs.

  “There. Much better.” He nodded his approval. “The more of your foot planted flat on the ground, the greater your strength when attacking. Slide your feet rather than lifting them and you wil be hard to knock off balance. Keeping your posture straight and your chest facing forward wil keep you stable as you make your swing.” He adjusted her elbows and placed a hand on her bottom, pushing to straighten her posture. She glared at him through narrowed eyes when he gave it a firm squeeze. He leaned over her shoulder, his breath feathering the hair on the nape of her neck. “It also al ows you to escape an enemy’s blow with a simple twist… if you maintain the proper position.”

  “Like so?”

  He grinned and adjusted her position yet again, pushing her bottom forward to tuck it in, brushing the outer curves of her breasts as he set her arms and shoulders, and sliding his hands from thigh to ankle to set her feet. “So many mistakes. One wonders if it’s wise to place pointy objects in your hands.”

  “I am a fumble-foot,” she said. “I expect I shal need lots and lots of practice. Could I ever win a fight? Against someone like you?” Her voice was suddenly serious.

  “No, love. I am stronger, faster and have greater speed. I’ve had a sword in my hand since I could walk and…in my younger days I had a great deal of dedication. Against someone like me you need cunning and guile. A smart fighter is aware of his surroundings at al times. It’s better the sun is in your opponent’s eyes than yours. Everyone has a weakness. Most opponents wil underestimate you, which can be used to your advantage. You don’t try to best someone like me. You use your surroundings and watch for weakness and when the moment is right, you escape him.

  Besides violet eyes and a saucy bottom,
what do you think is my weakness?”

  “Your size?”

  “How? My reach is longer and I’m very fast.”

  “Would it make you tire quicker?”

  “Smart girl! If I didn’t practice every day it might.” He chuckled and ruffled her hair. “So your best move is a good defense, sliding from side to side until your opponent tires.”

  “But what if I just wanted to show off? To impress other ladies?”

  “Ah! A dilettante I see. Come. I wil show you some attack positions and some very pretty flourishes.” Watching his muscles flex and his body move with fluid power as she stood but feet away caused a fluttering feeling inside her that didn’t help her concentration. She licked her lips as he whirled his blade, jumping high off the ground and twisting. He landed on one knee with his sword thrust into an invisible body. His sandy hair, almost blond from the sun, hung loose about bronzed shoulders, and his stomach rippled with muscle as, tossing and catching and twirling the sword, he strode toward her. Dear Lord, how I want him.

  “Enough practice for today?” His eyes watched her with amusement.

  He was showing off for me! She grinned her appreciation.

  “Yes, thank you, Robert.”

  Her cheeks dimpled when she laughed, which was something she did a lot, and her eyes sparked with mischief. But it was the seductive sway of her hips and the tight fit of her breeches as she walked away that made him decide he ought to give her lessons every day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  HOPE DIDN’T SEE HER HUSBAND at dinner. He had gone to the vil age with Sergeant Oakes to discuss building a bridge and new road. It would provide employment to some of those whose fortunes had suffered during and after the war. She didn’t doubt it was true, but she knew he did other things, as wel . He had men watching the roads from London, and she’d seen suspiciously wel -armed laborers with spyglasses tramping the fields and hil s. She also had the feeling when she saw him practice that he was preparing for something that lay ahead. The enemy from London? There was so much about him she didn’t know.